The weak days

My head throbs constantly
A day of innocence
There is weakness in me
But it doesn’t make sense.

The feelings come and go
I don’t know where to look
My eyes find one word: no
No answer in the book.

Ironic, it tells truth
Who am I to believe
When I am in my youth
I want to run and leave.

I find more truth running
To conclude on my own
And ignore the shunning
At least I’m not a stone.

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